


A Temporary Surrender: The Beginning Days

by Minxie



Series: A Temporary Surrender [2]
Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: KINKS: D/s, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-24
Updated: 2011-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-15 01:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I'm the one you hit your knees for. I'm the one you beg for and the one you cry for. I'm the one you trust with those things, with the side of you no one else even believes exists."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Temporary Surrender: The Beginning Days

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. Which, IMO, is a very sucky thing. Just sayin'.  
>  **AN:** Written in response to this glam_kink prompt. And, yes, I took the prompt and put my spin on it. *facepalm* So, yeah, hope it's what the OP was looking for. Huge love to my prereaders: vl_redreign and sunshinyday5762.

Rocking slowly, Adam pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders and watches the dawn break across the ocean. It isn't the only sunrise he's seen in the past few months, but it damn sure is the first he's witnessed after a full night's sleep. And while his body is quiet, a feat in and of itself, his mind is whirling with thoughts and ideas and worries. Things like his next album and the sound he wants for it, and how he can keep his name out there, stay in the media eye until the record drops in the fall, and how he can maybe get work to Tommy and Isaac until he needs them in the studio.

So lost in thought, Adam misses the sounds of Damien's arrival, the opening and closing of the screen door and the creak of footfalls on the deck. He jumps, startled, when Damien sets a steaming mug of tea on the table beside him and brushes a light kiss against the top of his head.

"Morning," Damien murmurs.

"I'm always shocked at how pretty it is here."

Damien raises an eyebrow. "Let's try that again, boy. Good morning."

Wincing, Adam blushes. "Good morning, Damien."

"And, yes, it's easy to both forget and to take for granted the peace of a December sunrise." Damien drops a pillow in front of the rocker and, with a hand at Adam's shoulder, directs him out of the chair and to his knees. "Find your center, Adam, while I get our breakfast."

Adam shifts, spreading his knees, rolling his shoulders and dropping his hands to his thighs, just working at settling into a comfortable position. Then, eyes closed, he takes a deep breath, and then another and another until he's breathing in a slow, steady cadence. He opens his eyes when the screen door clatters closed, watching as Damien sets a tray on the table and then takes Adam's place in the rocker.

"Better," Damien says after giving Adam a pointed once-over.

Damien snags a bowl from the tray and then, using his fingers, plucks an apple wedge from its depths. Working back and forth, a bite for Adam and then a bite for himself, they share a cold breakfast of fruit and cheese and juice in complete silence.

The lack of conversation is a minor punishment for a minor infraction. Adam knows it. Knows if he had started with a good morning, had returned the greeting in kind instead of making a comment on the scenery, their meal would have been full of chatter, of questions and plans and stories of the past twelve months.

He wonders how much of his slip was an honest mistake and how much was his subconscious way of putting off the inevitable talking. The series of conversations that will give Damien an idea of where Adam is mentally, of how much work it's going to take to talk him down to where he needs to be.

Adam knows it's going to take a lot. That he's spiraled so high, pushed himself until he was exhausted and then pushed himself a little bit further, that getting into the right headspace, reaching inside for that mindset that will give him the maximum benefit is going to be nothing short of a journey.

When Damien hands over his mug of tea, still hot enough to enjoy, Adam looks up and says, "I'm sorry. I know better."

"You do." Damien sips his tea, his eyes focused on the horizon. He takes another swallow from his mug and then looks down at Adam. "And you've paid for it. It's behind us now."

They finish their tea without conversation, Damien's fingers raking through Adam's hair, down and over his neck. It's a peaceful, companionable quiet and with each stroke Adam begins to relax, his thoughts slowing until both body and mind are locked in on the present.

"Quiet today, boy." Damien reaches down and presses a simple white handkerchief into Adam's hand. "You have the urge to really talk, give this back to me."

 _Really_ talk. As in discuss everything that didn't get a mention over breakfast. He curls his fingers tightly around the handkerchief. He'd rather be quiet than have that particular discussion right now. He wouldn't even know where to begin.

He feels the weight of Damien's stare, hears the sigh – edged with frustration – right before Damien whispers, "Come on, boy. Let's get rid of some of that stress."

Keeping his eyes averted – because, _fuck_ , he knows he's disappointed Damien on some level – Adam follows behind him, moving through to the house and into what Damien calls the quiet room. It's home to a massage table and pillows. Tons of pillows in soft, subdued earthy colors.

For Adam, this is the thinking room. Where he's usually expected to write in a journal, to organize the things that plague his mind. He's willing to bet that the cabinets hold an empty notebook and a pile of pens. And that before the day is over, Damien is going to push them at him and demand a list.

"Lose the clothes, then on the table." Damien doesn't turn around, doesn't even look at Adam over his shoulder.

Adam strips, folding the blanket first and then the sweats he'd slipped on earlier. He sits on the table, swaying his feet over the edge. He doesn't know how Damien wants him, face down or on his back, but he isn't willing to give up the handkerchief to find out.

"Face down, pretty," Damien says, flipping a switch and filling the room with the soft strains of jazz.

Stretching out, Adam pillows his head on his arms and waits. The clink of a glass bottle is followed by the smell of sandalwood and eucalyptus.

"Breathe with me. In" – Adam takes a deep a breath – "and out."

Damien repeats the instructions – _in and out_ – until Adam falls into the rhythm and maintains it without Damien's coaxing.

Then, when Adam is breathing slow and deep, and his body his relaxing on its own accord, oil-slicked hands start kneading the tight line of Adam's shoulders, drawing lines down the ridge of his spine. Damien works in silence, attacking pools of tension with pressure and focus until the muscle gives way.

"Focus on me, boy. Concentrate on my touch, on my words." Damien works further down Adam's body, skating over his buttocks, directing his focus to Adam's thighs, each in turn.

"You belong to me, all of you. Not just your body and pleasure, but your thoughts and worries and hopes." Damien's fingers dig into the muscle of Adam's right thigh, eerily finding the knot that has cramped and ached since midway through the tour. "They're mine to carry here."

Adam worries the handkerchief in his hand, twisting and rolling and tugging the linen.

"It's safe here."

The urge to brush Damien's words off flows through Adam, manifesting in a physical shudder.

" _You're_ safe here, Adam." Damien shifts his weight and starts on Adam's left thigh, his hands moving just as purposefully as his words are measured. "No one knows you're here. No one from out there is expecting anything from you. The only demands you have here are mine."

A gurgle, an uncontrollable sound, escapes the tight grip Adam has on his emotions.

"Trust me, boy."

Slowly, Adam unfurls his arms, reaching one back towards Damien. In his hand, in a tight wrinkled ball, is the handkerchief.

"Well done, pretty," Damien murmurs, slipping the handkerchief free with one hand, the other keeping a steady pace on Adam's thigh. "Tell me."

Swallowing, Adam shuffles through his thoughts, finally focusing on one. "They pushed the release date back to the fall. I don't want people to forget about me."

It acts like the breaking of a dam. With that one out there, that worry halved by being shared, Adam can't stop the release of the others. His worry about his band, his friends. His wonder and excitement and fear about being a godfather. His need to try different sounds, to find the right one for him.

Adam talks and talks and talks, Damien's only input an acknowledging grunt when Adam falls silent for more than a minute or two. Then, when the words have dried up and Adam is completely relaxed into the massage table, Damien brushes a kiss over Adam's shoulder.

"I'm proud of you, boy. Thank you for giving that to me." Damien covers Adam with the blanket and turns the lights down low. "Rest now. I'll be in the office when you're ready."

Adam drifts, dancing along the edge of dozing off, the weight on his shoulders light and manageable.

* * *

  
Adam, back in sweats and with the blanket pulled around his shoulders, finds Damien, as promised, in the office. The computer is up and running, the screen covered in spreadsheets and word docs. The man has always had a head for numbers; it's one of the reasons Adam sought him out before starting the tour.

He's unsurprised to find another kneeling pillow beside Damien's chair. The same can't be said when, after Adam sinks to his knees without a word, Damien drops the handkerchief onto his thigh. He looks up, sure the confusion is plain to see.

"My will," Damien replies in answer to the unspoken. Then, one hand pulling Adam's head to rest against his thigh, Damien returns his focus back to the computer.

Adam closes his eyes and lets the feel of Damien's fingers, scratching lightly over his scalp, and the static click-clack of the keyboard lull him into a deeper state of relaxation.

Ten minutes – an hour – later, the room falls silent. Damien tugs Adam's hair gently, bringing him back to awareness as he eases Adam away from his thigh. With two fingers under Adam's chin, Damien tilts Adam's head back until Adam is looking him in the eye. "Tomorrow, boy. Tomorrow we truly begin."

And now Adam knows why he has the handkerchief. Without it he'd have protested that statement in the space of one heartbeat and the next. He's not ready. So not ready.

"Yes, you are. It's not that you can't, it's that you don't want to." Damien's lips curl and quirk up on one end. "But you will."

Adam knows the truth behind the words. Behind every single one of them.

* * *

  
Adam wakes up in degrees. He always does after a day of complete silence. It takes him into a different headspace, one where time doesn't quite feel real, where everything slows down. His thoughts, his movements, and, to a point, his awareness. He feels Damien pressed in against his back, an arm and a leg thrown over Adam. Holding and protecting and _owning_ Adam even in his sleep.

Damien's words from the day before, the promise that today is when they'll truly begin, filter through Adam's mind. It'll be a day spent on his knees. Of being the sole focus of Damien's attention. Of his words and his touches. The thought of it is overwhelming.

Damien's breathing changes. Unlike Adam, he comes awake instantly. "Morning, boy."

"Good morning." His words are soft, almost reserved, because Adam is feeling quiet and shy, like he's skimming the edge of completely wrecked.

Damien nuzzles his nose and then his lips against Adam's neck. "Sleep well?"

Adam pushes back into the caress. Needy before the sun even comes up. He hates that. "Yes, thank you."

"Good." Damien tightens the arm around Adam's middle, a quick one-armed hug, and then rolls over. "Come on. Shower and then we'll find something for breakfast."

* * *

  
Adam, naked and half-hard, kneels in the bathroom, waiting while Damien pulls out towels and gets the shower started. The room fills with steam and heat. Sweat breaks over Adam's face, slicks the skin of his chest and back.

Damien taps Adam's shoulder. Silent commands in a private language. None of them forgotten from one visit to the next. Ever.

He goes from his knees to squatting to a full stand, grimacing once when his knees pop.

Damien snaps his head around, points a calculating look first on Adam's knees and then on Adam's face. "Sounds like that hurt."

"Not really. Kinda feels good."

Damien arches a brow. "Really?"

"Like when you crack your knuckles or your back." Adam shrugs. "Just everything shifting back into place."

"Right," Damien snorts. "Do you need to stay off of your knees?"

Grinning, Adam steps into the shower. "No. And, yes, if they start hurting I'll tell you immediately."

"You better."

"You're such a mom," Adam says, his amusement evident in his words.

"Smartass." Damien lands a stinging smack on Adam's ass. "Just for that, you're not coming in the shower, my little water baby."

Adam drops his head forward and groans. He's going to be hard all morning.

"I, however," Damien pushes at Adam's shoulder and, pointing at the mat near the drain, guides Adam to his knees, "am. Attend me, pretty."

Adam's mouth floods with saliva. He's a sexual creature and Damien, for every way that he's not Adam's type, is a very pretty man. Sucking his cock is no hardship at all.

Breathing in Damien's scent – musky and strong and so very fucking there – Adam darts his tongue out. He laps at Damien's balls, pulling one and then the other into his mouth, laving and sucking until Damien's breath hitches. Humming, Adam changes his focus, inches away from Damien's sac and to the base of Damien's cock, nipping lightly before dragging his tongue – and teeth – gently up the length and pushing against the slit.

"That's it," Damien whispers. "Now take me in, pretty."

Eyes fluttering shut, Adam swallows Damien's cock. He sets a mindless rhythm, mixes pulling Damien in deep and pulling back, flickering his tongue against Damien's cockhead or slit or the vein – heavy and pulsing – running the underside of Damien's cock.

He loses himself to the taste and the smell, concentrates on pulling another groan, another thrust of hips from Damien.

"Boy," Damien growls.

He cups Adam's face and then, adding pressure at the hinge of Adam's jaw, holds Adam in place and takes over. He thrusts slowly, but deeply. Pushing his dick deep into Adam's throat, holding for a second and then rocking back. As Adam relaxes into it, just taking whatever Damien gives, Damien speeds up. Each measured thrust coming faster, going deeper until Damien stills and, with a muttered curse – _yes, fuck_ – empties into Adam's mouth.

One hand in Adam's hair, the other gripping Adam's shoulder, Damien pulls Adam to his feet. He stares into Adam's eyes, whispers, "Well done, boy," and then devours Adam's mouth, his tongue mimicking the movements, the thrusts and retreats of his cock.

Damien breaks the kiss, pulls Adam in next to his body, tucking Adam's head beneath his chin, and repeats, "Well done, very well done."

Adam holds onto that feeling, chases the pride and easy acceptance for the rest of the morning.

* * *


End file.
